I am talking
to walls, each brick a prick inserted and pounded in-
to literally destroy, defile, and diminish good of the now widely-acclaimed Shit House
to that brothel of the popular kids, where money is of no consequence

I am talking
to the First Amendment, constituted by social importance
to those particular texts declared obscene, not protected by the 1st amendment
to them, those perverts jumping, who see only what they want or do not want,
nothing in between

I am talking
to the Ferlinghettis, Ginsbergs, Kerouacs, and yes! Giovannis who,
as the Niks they are, would praise this discourse
to encourage my oration
true natural interesting
orthodoxed in
truth nature and interest
to the voices in my head, “Declare me crazy! Manifest for me demons fiery flag burnings
so I can understand the reasons why
the reasons why a draft is being considered”
when all that means/stands for is an image of my class – peers
sinking lower
7 ft. under
while Bushes above bask in “American” sunlight
we in earth foreign soil tilled
this is not a draft, this is a complete vocalized ordeal!

I am talking
to the minuteman lost, having lost every night
eternal night of minutes losing attention of men and women
to men and women believing immigration different from penetration of bricks
into begging walls
that only produce high rising pleasures,
screaming for more bricks
to the shouts of ecstasy, “Shut the Fuck down!”

I am talking
to the beats and slamsters knitting away political action with words, accomplished more
to the true natural and interesting
political – humane – cause knotted together by my – our – hands
to Ghandi and Thoreau, disobedient of
economic/politic
classist/racist
established schema made law
my spoken word stands still, stands tall!

I am talking
to the militaryacademyindustrial complex wedded,
I object! social consciousness: nuclear confessions, creative minds subdued, transgressions juxtaposed
to American Hypocracy, founding fathers still here,
times changing only in numbers but
how can one put a number on morality
to Kant’s categorical imperative…
like the golden rule, too rare and unwanted,
but better to dismiss religious connotation…
and sexuality

I am talking
to Saint Augustine’s words, rivaling mine
begging for “God’s” forgiveness, owning nothing by
refusing action – Ginsberg too had confessions!
to agency, “We all have it!”
to make a choice, make available the choice
for autonomous decision
so people can actually claim rights to intellectual property

I am talking
to people not drones manufactured:
Cosmo girls,
Mailer’s (unsophisticated) little boys…
obsessive compulsive claustrophobic dyslexic
to labels embodied, commodified souls,
each with an instruction book-let, allowed by
“psychopathic” collecti-viduals, distributed…
exported from and imported
to Moloch America

II.

What we need is another Soviet Union
us serving people up catastrophes,
so cataclysmic dissection means another new invention.
That’s what we need, America.

What we need is another Soviet Union
a joining together of equals,
inbred cancerous cells comprising countries
our own, yours, mine cancerous
but spreading, more like plague, but
just as dangerous, cancerous as
astronomical entities empowered on earth,
that’s what we need, America.

What we need is another Soviet Union
to shut those damn prejudices down,
capitalistic cogs caught grinding down
stopping, squealing halt of machinery,
comforting shearing metal, brought by
time’s treatise that
one must either wind down, break—
die.
That’s what we need, America.

What we indeed need is another Soviet Union
so we can dress funny. You know
constraining ourselves no more to “My pants are this,”
and “My shirts are that,” or
G’s aren’t worth much without the Q, or
to hook a man, lines must consist of flattery
by physicality, no lines actually read.
Might as well walk naked, like poetry,
all truths revealed on and within our own terms, not another’s manipulation,
lines or clothes as barriers—I personally see sweet innocence in lines,
except single file lines.
That’s what we need, America.

What we need is another Soviet Union
hundreds upon thousands upon millions upon billions
all Unionists, socially equal after walking Hades;
socially confined in graves adorned with maggots, dirt, rot, all in the same earth;
socially inhuman because “socially”
holds precedence, men, truths, presidents, love, women, rights, society
even me;
what society socializes society
social social social social
social
everything equal at any cost, period
That’s what we need, America.

What we need is another Soviet Union
so we can at least have designated gang banger homies caravanning around with AK-47s and
the common, househeld pistol, dressed funny in uniform,
driving-bys no longer in urban outfits outset against small children
so small that in size is seen only innocence,
“but fear not” calls the leader holding his sword, rifle—war paint on belt,
“small children so small that we see only innocence,
we are here to insure you stay innocent,”
and the eternal, black descent ends
actually ends! on the wicked crack of a skull on the pavement
bang!
That’s what America needs.

What we need is another Soviet Union
literature already censured, sensered more
not by touch or sensation
by condemnation!
of the bitch-ass bully lunching on our 50 senses,
lashes across our spines, we poets scarred for life,
and in death no reincarnation—
rebirth, a travesty expounded by Men
saying “remember Recio’s ridiculous rhymes? That
shit was so horrid, not worth a dime.”
Ha. Yeah
that’s what we need, America.

What we need is another Soviet Union
chaining me down face first on cold prison floors, mopped by mi familia
innocent as small children
confined only so “Viva la rasa!” is no more than a pretense
of Pancho Via and Che Guevarra
so those educated can say “Long live America”
so those advantaged can say “Long live America”
so those ignorant can say “Long live America”
so when I break the chains and escape poetically, intrinsically, and by God
universally empowered,
I can educate the ignorantly advantaged
And say “Long live America…Viva la rasa!”
That’s what we need, America.Ted E. Recio is a student at Grinnell College, Iowa, majoring in English and Philosophy. Recio says: "Sensual experience defines man's reality. That which he sees/hears/feels connotes his world. My poetry attempts blurring the line between the real and surreal--or what poets aim to discover and birth into the world: the sublime. I'm a poet, yes, but more than anything I'm an autonomous individual--human--choosing to exercise my right to try and bring sensitization back to America."
Copyright 2006, all rights reserved.

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